


Chapter Seventy-Two: Black Sun

by CavalierConvoy



Series: MTMTE Series One: Shoot Straight with a Crooked Gun [73]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers: Beast Machines
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Ghosts, Other, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:19:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4752905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavalierConvoy/pseuds/CavalierConvoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Vehicon-infested Cybertron, the Maximals regain morale when they meet up with more of Cyclonus and Whirl's shipmates. With the Autobots' (and Cyclonus's) help, there's a chance to defeat Megatron's forces once and for all.</p><p>Except now Megatron has a new ally. </p><p>As does Waspinator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapter Seventy-Two: Black Sun

Like Prometheus, we are bound  
Chained to this rock  
Of a brave new world  
Our godforsaken lot

  
—["Black Sun"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QVNQBZMVSe0) by Dead Can Dance, from _Aion_

 

 

Iacon Proper

Cybertron

Three hundred stellar cycles from rendezvous with _Wreckers' Spoils_

 

"Hypothetical question," Rattrap initiated; Cheetor and Black Arachnia had scouted ahead, with Braddore circling the area overhead. Pantera had taken the low road with Drift, now in vehicle mode, with Whirl keeping a low hover nearby, leaving Rattrap with Optimus on the walkway. "Seeing that we're already tangled up pretty badly with this whole fiasco, what happens if we just, yanno, just concentrate on Megatron and let things run its course?"

"Hypothetically?" Optimus sighed. "I don't know if I'm qualified to answer that, Rattrap. Skyfire's doing what he can to keep the generator from failing; we just have to place faith in him while we do what we can to reach the metrotitan."

"But after that? What happens when we do reach the metrotitan?" Rattrap questioned. "I mean, worst case scenario, we murder a city!"

"And considered by religious circles as a god." the simian Maximal nodded, maintaining a stoic mask. "I hope it does not come to that. But that's not the only thing on your mind right now, is it?"

"I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't concerned about 'Tera's current mindset," Rattrap admitted.

"Ah. You noticed that as well." Optimus turned his head to meet the smaller Maximal's gaze.

"I got talkin' to her earlier, and I kinda brought up Depth Charge, not in the friendly context, mind. She didn't even bat an optic. I mean, I'm gettin' the double memories she's admittin' and all, but there's something else there." Rattrap cast his gaze over the walkway, at the Autobot and Vehicon keeping pace with the large feline Maximal ahead of them. "Ever since we found the _Lost Light_ , even before the quantum wave, she's been actin'..."

"...distant?" Optimus's observation was instantaneous. "I have a theory, and it's not a pleasant one."

"Eh, you're noticin' the response lag, too?"

Optimus nodded, keeping his sights ahead. "Have you brought this up to the others?"

"Seriously? Sure, Legs would shrug it off, but the kids? How do you tell 'em their Mamacat's not herself anymore?"

"It's unusual for you to take emotional aspect of a situation."

"You do remember what happened with Rhinox? Hell, even I took that pretty rough. Not sayin' I don't admire the current style, but if 'Tera's gettin' back to her roots, you and I both know that's gonna — "

Jets overhead interrupted the veteran; Stormrave, with another aerodrone, pulled up, switching to robot mode in tandem before hovering before the Maximal leader. Optimus and Rattrap halted in their tracks, the leader giving the red and white Maximal a nod before regarding the other jet. "Cyclonus, I presume. I hope to welcome you into our fold as a friend."

"An ally, at the least," Cyclonus corrected.

"Skyfire says the generator could fluctuate again," Stormrave stated before Optimus could question the semantics. "But it sounds like Blaster and his crew may have things under control as far as the ship's defences are concerned."

"A paradox in itself," Optimus brooded. "As long as the generator remains in flux, the crew is able to maintain the ship."

"All the more reason for us to be swift in defeating your adversary," Cyclonus reminded.

"Easier said than done," Rattrap admitted.

"Megatron is...limited...in his reach, and must rely on his generals to be his senses in the field," Optimus explained. "His fortress over Cybertropolis — the new city over the Iacon city-state — is, as far as we've attempted, inpenetrable."

"I have met one of these generals: Obsidian," Cyclonus bowed his head. "He is well-versed in dealing with guerrilla tactics. He does, however, have one flaw to be exploited."

"His unwavering loyalty to Megatron," Optimus stated.

The possessed aerodrone nodded. "As I understand, one of the generals — Thrust? — is lost, affected by the same quantum surge that revived our sparks."

"The other, Strika, is Obsidian's consort," Stormrave added. "They act in tandem. Convince one, you convince the other."

"We have attempted — and nearly succeeded — convincing them to join our cause in rebuilding Cybertron," Optimus explained. "I fear they may have — "

The retort of gunfire interrupted their discussion, below and ahead. "Stormrave, scout it out but do not engage!" The Maximal commander barked.

"On it, boss!" Stormrave saluted with a smooth transition into jet mode, banking off the walkway and following the road below. In less than a cycle, she returned, a hurried clip. "Phalanx of tanks, 'Tera and her buddies engaged! Permission to assist?"

Cyclonus, under no obligation to the Maximal leader, darted upward, then, in a tailslide, dropped his altitude below the walkway, transforming in mid-stall, before lighting off his afterburners.

"Optimus?" Rattrap reminded of his presence.

"Regroup with Cheetor and flank us!" Optimus ordered, vaulting over the railing in a flash of blue.

 

Five cycles ago

 

"So, what's the plan, boss?"

Pantera glanced up at the possessed Vehicon, his head wound no longer sparking, exposing the dead optical sensor and relay. "They can't detect me while I'm in alt mode, and judging how long Stormrave's been running with the Maximals, they're not calibrated to pick up individual Vehicons without comms. The idea is to keep the Vehicons occupied while Primal and his group get to the metrotitan."

 _"I wish I could be of use in that aspect,"_ Drift lamented. _"If there was anything I could do to help him, whether to bring him from the brink or aid him onto the next life — "_

"And there goes our hippy Drifty," Whirl groused.

"Right now, Drift, Primal's the one who can reach Metroplex. He's the one with the direct connection with the Oracle. And if his theory's got merit, then we might be looking at one big tangle in itself."

"Well, we're outnumbered a zillion to three, we've got slag for weapons, and the only one of us who isn't dead is rocking a fragile meat suit." Whirl shrugged. "Sure. Why not? What could possible go wrong?"

Up ahead, exchange of machine gun fire echoed against the decrepit buildings.

"All mechs accounted for," Pantera muttered, furrowing her brow. "What could they be firing at?"

"Who cares? I'd say that's an invite!" Whirl hooted, folding into vehicle mode and darting ahead.

"He's actually best of the three of us to blend in," Pantera admitted. "Drift, hang back; if there's a Vehicon patrol up front, you'll stick out."

The car flanking her ground gears, shifting jerkily into robot mode with a spray of rust. _"Hate to admit it, but Whirl's right. I'll stick to the shadows, keep an optic on you. Be safe, Art."_

"Wreck and rule, kid," she nodded, breaking into a run after the possessed copter.

She knew these streets; Iacon Proper, Government Centre. The battle was in the vicinity of the temple district.

"Because why not?" She muttered under her breath, leaping onto a ledge that led to the sky walk. From that vantage, she could see a phalanx of tank drones engaged with —

_— huh._

The unit was in a state of clusterfrag; in robot mode, the tanks tracked their cannons on members of their own group, as though unable to decipher ally or foe.

And from the group of more organised tanks and HAV drones towards the rear, she soon understood why.

One of the tanks was barking orders. She strained to concentrate on the words over the gunfire, and only after half the phalanx had been culled, a gruff voice called out, "Autobots, converge on me and sound off!"

_Hound!_

A quiet observation rose from her memory, a no more of interest than a trivial factoid: how would I know that? I never served with Hound.

Yet:

 

_"Frontliners, take point, keep them from breeching into the corridor!"_

And:

 

_"Nothing from the bridge. The line's clear, but no one's answering. I don't know if they've been arrested as well, or — "_

Bolting along the skywalk, she jumped from the lowest point, through the ranks of Vehicons, adding her voice, her name to the roster. Reverting to robot mode, she shouted, "Target the ones targeting me!" over the "Maximal signature detected"; those free of the Autobot possession took pursuit, initial programming overriding the confusion.

"What the hell is going on?" One of the tanks whined.

_Huffer._

 

_"We should have stayed where we were!"_

 

"We'll worry about that after we take care of this mess!" Another snapped.

_Brawn._

 

_"Took some casualties. Medics are scrambling — they even got Hoist and Grapple lending a hand. Don't know if there's fatalities — "_

 

And where there were those two Minibots — former Minibots — there had to be —

"Treads. I hate treads. How the hell does anyone move in treads?"

_Gears._

 

_"Kaff kaff! And now my intakes are — kaff kaff — plugged!"_

 

Passing the lead first possessed Autobot, the jaguar Maximal backtracked, keeping low and optics scanning. "Pick them off from behind, Hound," she ordered. "They're drones. Without a commander, they'll keep dogging me."

"Stay alive, Art," Hound nodded, "I'll be expecting a debriefing after." Louder, as she broke into a full-tilt run away from the group, he barked, "Those airborne, suppressing fire in the lead; ground troops, we're taking them out from the rear! Let's move, mechs!" To the tank to his right, Hound ordered, "Your Wrecker, your responsibility. Watch her five."

A grunt of affirmation, and the tank pulled away from the main group, just as a possessed aerodrone joined the fray. Behind him a simian beastformer with built in a jetpack.

"Reinforcements," Cyclonus reported, as though the words explained the situation.

"And likely someone who knows what's going on — "

"Hound, they're splitting ranks!" Brawn interrupted, tackling an approaching drone.

"That's a good thing!" Hound fired a salvo into the chest of an incoming Vehicon as the newcomer launched an energy projectile at another. "Hey, careful there, some of them are my mechs!"

"I know; I can sense your sparks," the simian admitted, just as Drift emerged from the shadows, skewering two HAVs against the wall.

 _"Same here!"_ Withdrawing his swords, the undead mech switched his hold to a backhand strike, slamming the blades into the heads of two more drones. _"If this doesn't send a message to Megatron, nothing will!"_

"I'm seriously freaking out now, Hound!" Huffer cried, resorting to fisticuffs against his HAV opponent.

"Megatron?!" Gears groused. "Oh, lovely, how can this get any more worse?"

Whirl's cackle was the only warning as he pitched downward, leading a squad of aerodrones to crash into the front-leading tanks, close enough for Gears and Huffer to fall back from the resulting explosion.

"Whirl, that was too damn close!" Hound snapped.

The copter scoffed, tossing his head back. "No one died. No one important, that is."

 _"We don't know how strong the hold is on those shells,"_ Drift reminded, sheathing his swords as he scanned for more drones. _"And right now we can't afford to test the theory."_

"No one's firing," Brawn tossed the offline tank aside as though it were tin foil. "Looks like we got 'em under control."

"Now can somebody tell us what's going on?" Huffer demanded.

Reverting to beast mode, the newcomer nodded. "We seem to have a quantum improbability on our hands," he stated. "I'm Optimus Primal, leader of the Maximals, descendants of the Autobots."

"Oh. Wonderful. Time travel. I hate time travel," Gears grumbled.

"A namesake, I take it?" Hound nodded. "I'm Hound, second in command of the Lost Light. Though technically, Drift currently outranks me."

 _"I only bought the ship; if it's military, it's your show,"_ Drift reminded.

"And what's wrong with Drift?" Huffer demanded.

"Ignore them," Brawn suggested.

"I would if they weren't so damn loud about it!" Whirl countered.

"So, you know Drift and Cyclonus, and I'm assuming Whirl as well," Hound then waved a hand to the three tanks arguing behind him. "Gears, Huffer, and Brawn."

"I'm sensing others," Primal furrowed his brow.

"Noncombatants," Hound answered, indicating a collapsed wall. "It's clear!"

"This is not how I intended to spend my afterlife!" someone shouted from behind the barrier.

"Now Grapple, there are worse scenarios to find oneself," another replied, as two HAVs and a tank drone emerged from hiding. One of the HAVs crouched on all fours, plating shivering. The tank had been the one speaking. "Although I don't know how much longer Bob will be able to handle this, Hound."

"We'll find Sunstreaker soon enough," Hound assured. "In the meantime, Primal, Grapple and Hound are our EMTs in the field. Bob's...well, unique."

The quadraped HAV crouched, belly to the concrete, and chittered fearfully.

"My thoughts exactly," Grapple muttered, staring up at the building in which they had taken cover. "Look at what they did to the Covenant! It stood eight million stels, through three wars and countless battles, only to succumb to what? To disrepair! Hoist, this is a travesty!"

"So!" Keeping a hand on Bob's head, Hoist ignored his other companion's off-topic lament. "While we have a reprise, perhaps we could learn more of the situation we've found ourselves in?"

"Some dude trying to be Megatron took over the planet using a virus, squishy Maximals are the only ones standing in the way, and by the way, we're dead and likely in some sort of Purgatory. Did I cover everything?" Whirl directed his rhetoric towards Cyclonus. "Still trying to figure out how the boss nabbed a fur suit."

"Because 'Tera ain't who you think she is," Rattrap countered, coming up on Primal's flank. "Well, she is, but kitty-cat's been tappin' your version of her. Far as we can tell."

The bipedal HAV scratched his head and looked at his companion tank. "I think I'm confused."

"He's saying their Artemis is channelling our Artemis," Hoist explained, then, hiding his optics, "Primus, that's a frightening thought."

Hound scanned the ceiling of the city. "Here's what I'm thinking: let's get somewhere under cover and hash out what we do know. If things are going the way they are, we're in for the long run."

"Were there others?" Primal questioned.

"If there are, we haven't found them yet," Hoist admitted; Bob leaned against his leg, nervousness ebbing but not disappearing. "This whole scenario's rather...jarring."

"I had been part of the reconstruction of the Temple," Grapple lamented, staring at the broken spires. "Remember, Hoist?"

"I remember, Grapple, I remember," Hoist nodded, patting his friend's shoulder.

Primal frowned. "We may be losing time with the metrotitan. What we do know is it's likely the root to what brought you here in the first place."

 _"They're on the level, Hound,"_ Drift vouched. _"If you want my opinion, we keep these Vehicons off the Maximals' backs while they keep on task."_

"Sounds like if we're getting involved with a metrotitan, then that's your jurisdiction," Hound pointed his chin to the once-red and white speedster.

"So we're not only dead, we're dealing with — I'm so not — oh, Primus, Whirl's right! Oh all the times for him to be right! This is perdition!"

"Huffer, enough," Brawn warned, picking up a bit of concrete and proceeded to scratch something into his arm. "You're stressing out Grapple and Bob."

"Well, at least you're taking it in stride," Rattrap shrugged. "Oi, Boss Monkey, we got a plan yet or are we just gonna wait around for the next round of Vehicons?"

"You're welcome to join us," Primal extended his hand to the lead tank. "We can fill you in en route."

The tank's optic band — no longer red but the blue inherent in many an Autobot — gave away Hound's pensive consideration before he spoke, regarding the rotor-flyer. "Whirl, assist and retrieve Art and Teebs. We'll move out when everyone's accounted for."

Whirl's shoulders slumped. "Oh, great. The one-trick pony joined the party. Oh! Let me guess! He's fragging useless now!"

"You have your orders, Whirl," Hound reminded.

Whirl threw his hands in the air. "Oh, maybe he can cheer us on! If I wanted something to spew cheesy motivational advice, I'd've bought a poster."

Cyclonus gave his companion a scathing glare.

"What?" the one-opticked copter demanded. "That mental image of the boss Wreckering up in a glorious swathe of destruction? Ruined by the junxy following close behind, asking her if it was really necessary. Pfft. What a killjoy."

"Whirl," Cyclonus warned, crossing his arms over his chest, glaring at the rotormech.

"Fine! Fine, I'm going," Whirl groused, transforming into vehicle mode. "But if I see something that scars me, I'm sending you the therapy bill." Without waiting for a response, the copter darted away, banking sharply around a corner.

"Wait." Rattrap's gaze flitted from each of the possessed Vehicons before settling on Hound. "What does he mean, 'junxy'?"

 

*

Command Hub

Over Cybertropolis, Iacon Harbour District

 

This...was a setback.

It was improbable. A factor that could not — should not — have ever come into being. Nothing — nothing! — would have ever predicted such an event to occur in the nearly fourteen billion stellar cycle history of the universe.

Or rather, this universe.

 _Clearly,_ Megatron brooded, _I should have expanded my horizons regarding the calculations._

His current shell was almost useless; simply a spark casing with sensors and locomotion. The mobility was a plus, and speed — my, the little diagnostic drone shell was indeed zippy. And right now, serving a purpose with its multitasking capabilities. Strika was still on mission, clearing out the Iacon tunnels, searching for both the Maximals and the traitorous bug, likely glitching from Starscream's influence. Again.

"Why must I continue giving that idiot second chances?" Megatron growled, tapping into Cybertropolis's primary power controls and rerouting energy to the historical districts. "It would be a miracle if the closed circuit security systems were still operational. What is it, Obsidian?" This, he delivered with thunder towards his remaining general.

If the helicopter was unsettled by the outburst, Obsidian refrained from expressing such. "Sire, I only wait for your next order."

"This ship...the _Lost Light,_ was it? I find nothing about it in my records, yet it is clearly a ship of Cybertronian origin. And to you, Obsidian, it holds no memory or recollection, either."

"No, sire, it does not."

Bringing up a vector image of the Iacon Harbour bluffs, Megatron studied the three-dimensional map, darting around it. "The energy readings are impressive, if unsettling, and unfortunately, as per your report, the source unobtainable using normal tactics. And seeing they had no issue siding with the Maximals leads me to believe this was an Autobot ship, even without markings. Whether a full Wreckers detail — which I doubt, they only travelled in packs, rather than full crew — or simply a passenger vessel...Obsidian, were you able to gauge the armaments on board?"

"Other than photon charges, negative, my lord."

"Definitely not a Wrecker vessel, then. And the one who possessed an aerodrone — Cyclonus? Why would he have been not only on board but defending an Autobot vessel? As a prisoner, yes, I would see that, but as crew? Something does not add up, Obsidian."

"That is, my lord," Obsidian cleared his throat, "if this Cyclonus is who he says he is."

"There is always that, yes," Megatron admitted. "It changes nothing that we are dealing with sparks — or ghosting of sparks — from an Autobot vessel. Said sparks have the ability to possess my drones." He clacked his claw against the side of his casing. "Which does not follow the standard model, no."

"'Standard model', my lord?"

"Yes, the model I've come to decipher from my own observations regarding Protoform X's and the original Starscream's sparks, as well as experimentations done based on those observations. These findings enabled me to learn how to control and harness sparks as an energy source, to salvage our decaying world and return order to the nature of matters." Megatron tapped two digits together. "If I didn't have a rogue general and those mettlesome Maximals to deal with, I could focus on —"

The comms squelched to life. _"Strika to Lord Megatron."_

"Oh, tell me the Maximals have been destroyed," Megatron muttered before answering the hail. "Strika, report."

_"The Maximals are splitting their forces; my scouts are encircling their base as we speak while my primary forces have been in pursuit of their heavy hitters. There has been...unexpected...resistence, my liege."_

"Unexpected? You don't say," Megatron muttered. "Yes, I'm well aware of the two possessed Vehicons — "

Strika made a hesitant noise.

"Strika, please tell me it's only two possessed Vehicons."

_"My lord, it appears they're joined by an Autobot...albeit all scans are coming back as nonfunctioning."_

"And yet it fights along side the Maximals! Oh, will this solar cycle get any better?" Megatron threw his claw in the air. "Obsidian, truce be damned; I want observation on the Autobot ship. I want to know if anything — anything! — so much as twitches a servo on board. Strika, continue dogging the Maximals. If Thrust has gone rogue, it is by Starscream's meddling, and likely Primal is already following that lead. The Maximal base is little interest at this point, but maintain scouts in the area."

"My lord," Obsidian bowed, hovering to the exit. A proximity alert on the surface monitor caught his attention. Tapping the screen to magnify the figure, Obsidian swung his head to face his master. "Lord Megatron, it appears we have a visitor."

"If it isn't Thrust bringing me Primal's head...." Megatron allowed the comment to trail off as he darted to Obsidian's position.

"It appears to be an Autobot, sire," the general stated, increasing the magnification. "No life signs."

Megatron regarded the figure in the zoomed in image. Even pixelated, the Autobrand was clear in the centre of the chest plate of the large mech, the dull red against a dark grey field. Utility vehicle, likely civilian build, and on closer scrutiny, the shell itself might have been considered average-sized for the utility caste, but the apparatus resembling a rocket launcher and gun mount on the undead Autobot's back added to the bulk. Judging by the girth and build of the torso, the apparatus was not after market. "Computer," he ordered, "cross-reference census records with the Autobot in Monitor Bravo. Scan for spark signature."

 _«Spark signature detected,»_ came the instantaneous reply, _«with abnormal power readings.»_

"Oh, wonderful, another mutant spark. I've had it up to my optic sensor with mutant sparks."

"Sire, I do believe he's requesting an audience," Obsidian announced, tapping a digit against the monitor. "Perhaps this may be an envoy from the ship...?"

"Perhaps," Megatron mused, studying the figure, who now made a slow, deliberate gesture with his hand, an invitation to approach; his other hand held something obscured at that distance. "Prepare the containment field. If anything, we can dissect and study this undead phenomenon if we don't like what he has to say."

"At once," Obsidian made a stiff bow at the waist before moving to the transmat controls. "My lord, do you wish for me to assist you with our...visitor?"

"No need. You have your orders. I have the sense he wishes to parley one-on-one, yes."

"Understood, Lord Megatron." Again, Obsidian bowed, before retreating from the chamber.

"Oh, this better be good, yes," Megatron grumbled, wringing his digits together. "These...setbacks...are becoming a nuisance."

The transmat powered up, and within the containment field in the centre of the chamber, the Autobot appeared with a flash of blue, hovering before the tiny shell Megatron had commandeered.

"If you are here to broker a peace between myself and the Maximals, then you are at a disadvantage," Megatron initiated. "I've little time and no patience for those who pollute the planet further with organic matter. Now, speak quickly of your intended purpose here and maybe I'll consider granting you a swift return to the Allspark."

The Autobot, his optic visor cracked, casting an eerie, reddish glow amid sharper, brighter lines, stared down at the warlord. _"From where I'm floating,"_ he rumbled, a smile spreading across the broad face, unused by expression for three centuries, _"You're just as trapped as I."_

"I am merely an avatar, a voice, to the mech you are now within," Megatron retorted, a practised lie even he had believed. "Again, what is your purpose?"

_"What is anyone's purpose in life? To survive, to thrive, to seek pleasure, amusement, comfort? I've been observing, much as you have, of which the scenario we've found ourselves entangled. To you, I extend a hand in aid to your cause."_

_«Identification seventy-seven percent positive match,»_ the computer reported through Megatron's internal comms.

Megatron hushed it for the interim. "And what, pray tell, do you want in return?"

_"Free reign to seek retribution to those who had wronged me."_

" _Oh._ " Megatron drew out the syllable; had he possessed a mouth, he would have shared the calculating grin his prisoner sported. "So I take it this is not your actual shell."

_"A convenient vessel, save for one matter. If you would be so kind as to help me with a minor surgery, I would assist you in the apprehension and extermination of your pest problem."_

"'Minor surgery'?"

The Autobot held out the object in his hand; regardless of the difference in size, the transformation cog was a recognisable organ. _"This shell's original t-cog had been removed. I wish to have this one installed."_

"And I shall also presume — and please, do correct me if I am mistaken — that you are, perhaps, the prisoner my general Obsidian observed on board the ship?"

The shell smiled — not a smirk, but a wide, cruel cut along his face, exposing dentae; his head bowed in challenge, the shadows of his brow further amplifying the red optics. _"For now you may call me Gigatank."_

"Ah, giving me an alias? Tell me, Gigatank, what crime had been so heinous that would force you to find yourself the lone prisoner on board an Autobot ship? What transgression would cause you to take up an pseudonym? What offence would force you to commandeer the shell of a dreaded enemy, then crawl to my proverbial doorstep to plead for help?"

 _"Oh, you misunderstand,"_ the mech — Gigatank, however unlikely the name — shook his head, a slow, deliberate movement. _"You see, I was the warden, and the crew? They were my prisoners. And they still fear me. With the exception of one little speedster with a relic, drone shells are all that their weakened sparks can control."_

"You forget one small detail: those drone shells belong to me. I engineered, built them to my specifications. I control — "

_"You've lost that control, else you would have exerted it the moment they woke."_

"I want to know what they're after, why they are here. Something so powerful as to bring the dead back to life...? I want that power under my control. If I must deal with insects to obtain that source, then so be it." Megatron tapped the side of his head casing. "My question then, outside of a petty need for revenge, could you possibly want to broker for in this deal? You're promising me eldritch muscle to aide my existing generals, just so that you can go after those who imprisoned you? And let's be honest if were are to have all chips on the table: you were the one imprisoned."

 _"Semantics."_ This was delivered with amusement.

"No, I think there's something else you desire. And the only reason why I haven't scattered your atoms is that I do believe you would be of some use to me, Gigatank. And until I know your true intentions, we stay here in parley until we reach agreement or I decide you're more useful on a dissection table."

_"I make no pretence of my situation: I am a ghosting spark possessing an Autobot with no discernible on board weaponry. I am in this current shell at your mercy."_

"Ah. Now I understand your situation, though I still feel as though you have ulterior motives."

_"Don't we all?"_

"So ultimately, you wish for me to transplant a three hundred stellar cycle old transformation cog into an equally deceased shell — which, judging by the request means this shell does not possess said cog — in exchange for you aiding me in hunting down the Maximals and their new allies out of petty revenge?" Megatron phrased the statement as a question.

The Autobot nodded. _"You understand my offer perfectly."_

So many questions. But those questions could be answered under the knife. And if Megatron changed his mind, he still had Starscream's old spark container somewhere on board. "It appears, friend Gigatank, we have reached an agreement."

 

*

Service Access Tunnels

Level Upsilon-Seventy-Four

Iacon

 

_Now I enter these hallowed halls, a conqueror._

Somewhere in his backbrain, Waspinator recalled Megatron's ascension. The beginning of the end. The moment where Megatron ceased to be a namesake, a rogue commander with a ragtag crew, the dregs of Predacon society, and became —

Careening to a stop just before a steep drop-off, the cycle Vehicon transformed, wringing his claws together with a buzzing whine. The cavern was silent, a surreal reverberation of the emptiness within his audio receptors; there was no vitae in these arteries.

But the pull was too strong to ignore.

 

_"Took forever, but way worth it."_

 

_«Query: Smallwing | forget»_

"Wazzzpinator not remember," Waspinator admitted, cradling his head. "Wazzzpinator trying to remember, but can't."

_«Query: Smallwing | confusion»_

"Wazzzpinator confused," he agreed. "Wazzzpinator'zzz memory jumbled."

_«Query: Smallwing | fear»_

The regressed Vehicon surveyed the stagnant energon pools; in another life, he would have flown down closer to the surface, closer to the dying spark of —

_«Query: Smallwing | help»_

Help? Waspinator was unaccustomed have someone ask him for help. Usually it was the other way around, dragging his broken carcass back to the CR tank.

Or was the large voice offering him help?

"Voice" was inaccurate. "Presence" was better.

_«Proposition: Smallwing | follow»_

"Wazzzpinstor can no longer fly!" Waspinator lamented, shoulders slumping. "Why izzz thizzz happening to Wazzzpinator?"

_«Proposition: Smallwing | trust»_

"Truzzzt?" Tossing his head back, his mandibles chattering, Waspinator wailed in frustration. "Truzzzt got Wazzzpinator in thizzz mezzz!"

_«Advice: Smallwing | peace»_

Whine dying in the stale air, the Vehicon dropped his head in defeat. "Who izzz large voizzze?"

_«Answer: Smallwing | friend»_

 

*

Government Centre

Five hundred metres from Temple District

 

With tank drones on one's aft, always dart left. The right-mounted turret took longer to track if the quarry goes to the left.

From the sounds of the treads and engine, there was only one drone, versus the three more agile HAV drones in front. Likely one of the Autobot-possessed drones. Good news. While it would have been nice to dwell on the possibility that the Maximals were whittling down the Vehicon battalions, or Strika was using minimal forces as distractions whilst she attended to locate the metrotitan, the jaguar Autobot — _Maximal_ \- knew better.

The telltale whine of the tank drone's turret powering up was a give away; She had already bolted left, the HAVs in her line of sight but the tank drone now in her peripheral. Use its poor targeting —

It wasn't tracking her. Instead, it fired, destroying the lead HAV, then targeted the right. The felinoid did not ask questions in the middle of battle; she went on the offencive with the drone on the left, smashing out the knee joint and, in its descent, brought the large sledge hammer down on its head. As it toppled, so too did its companion by not-so-friendly fire.

Assess the situation: no more drones, save for the tank, transforming and approaching her in root mode, the turret powering down.

"From the _Lost Light_ , I take it?" she questioned, allowing the hammer to slide in her hand so that she could chamber it on her shoulder, not quite standing down but keeping him in her sight as she scouted the immediate vicinity. "Hound already gave me a rundown. By the by, thanks for the assist."

He — judging by the tone — made a noncommittal, even hesitant grunt; watched her, with open intention as she paced the perimeter of the courtyard. Once ascertaining its tactical advantages, she took a sentinel position at the mouth of the entry, head of the hammer on the ground, hands clasped on the butt of the handle.

"Just trying to figure out what to do now," she muttered, staring into the pavilion. A kilometre away, the Senate chambers towered, monopolising the Iacon skyline, even with the dome overhead. "Just...trying to collect my bearings. Things...got complicated."

The silence hung over the two of them, deafening throughout the dead city. She concentrated, searching for the noise of engines, of fire fights, of battle. More accurately, she kept her senses keen on the drone behind her. He might have been a _Lost Light_ er, but there were 'bots on board she did not recognise. They might know her as a comrade, but she had comrades in the past who could slit her throat if she gave them the chance.

Instead:

"Hey, Art?" he beckoned, the shell unused to speaking but the tone, the tenor, pulled at her memory — no, her spark. "Why don't I take first watch?"

A bright pain radiated through her chest. That...hurt. Stung. Longing. Why longing? But....

"When was the last time you got a solid recharge?" he continued, confidence building as he approached, a slow, deliberate move, treads crunching bitumen. "Knowing you, you've been running yourself ragged since this mess began."

She staggered over her words, forcing her back straight. "How...?" she stammered.

"Skyfire — the featherduster, that is. Cyclonus told him how he did it, he just kinda let us loose. Asked if we wanted to help you guys defeat Megatron. Not strong enough to occupy our original shells, he said. It was...sorry, bit of an info dump I don't really understand."

"There are others?"

"Yeah. Lost track, though. The road crew — the old gang. Hound and the others, you know. Huffer, Gears, Brawn; Grapple and Hoist — "

 

_"'I don't like hotheads, ex-Cons, and Wreckers.' He said that. To me. Directly."_

_"C'mon, if that were true, he wouldn't like Inferno. Or Skyfire! And — hold on — he likes Perceptor. So you see? He just needs to warm up to you."_

"Yeah," she agreed, though her tone betrayed her confusion in the situation.

"So I figured...well, what the hell, hunt you down, because likely you've gone off on your own with your Wrecker up and probably needed someone to watch your five."

_Make it real. Say his name._

 

_"...to join these two sparks as one..."_

"Trailbreaker," she whispered, turning her head. "You and I...we weren't just friends, were we?"

His engine hitched. She expected that. That was his tell. She knew that tell. How could she know that tell?

 

_"Last night — was that a one-off?"_

_"Did you want it to be?"_

_"Do you?"_

_"Do you think we'd both be here cuddling on your berth if it either one of us thought that?"_

"Because, right now?" Pantera continued, mind racing. "Right now, I'm doing my damnedest not to run to you."

"I..." He stopped, a metre of space between the two. "...you're ragged. I'll take first watch. You rest up, if only for a megacycle or two. All right?"

 

_A bottle of Primus's Chosen Premium, aged one thousand stels in tungsten-lined casks..._

_"Put the Nightmare Fuel away, and let's drink ourselves into oblivion in style."_

She turned her head, looked up at him; the dull crimson of the tank drone's optics had been burned away by a vibrant sunset gold —

 

_"Ever seen Arcturus set at the Romeo Kilo Outpost? It turns everything this reddish-golden hue, and fills you with the warmth of fond memories and beautiful hopes and dreams...."_

 

Memories that weren't hers, but the fondness was there.

She should not trust him. Black Arachnia made that mistake, and it nearly cost her her spark.

Nearly. The spider Maximal's gamble yielded a profitable payout in the end. Silverbolt returned to their fold.

 

_"You calculate the value of your friendships?"_

 

She wanted to ask him "How tight is your hold on that shell?" Instead...distrust burned away, leaving...

...longing.

"You promise you wake me up at the first sign of trouble?" she stressed.

"Nope." The possessed tank cocked his head to one side. "There'll be no trouble."

"You don't know that." Primus, the banter...this is too familiar.

"Yeah, I do. I got your five, Art." He took a few steps to the side — the tank drones were awkward walking — and sat against a collapsed rock wall, staring out into the city.

The spell was broken when the thupthupthup of rotors grew progressively louder; both possessed Vehicon and Maximal bristled, taking on a battle-ready stance. Even as the lone helicopter reverted to robot mode, favouring the right optic, the two remained prepared.

"Oh, knock it off, boss; it's just me." Whirl groused, flipping his thumb behind him. "The monkey and Hound want us to regroup."

"'Monkey'?" Trailbreaker questioned, looking down at his companion.

"Optimus Primal," she stated, as though explaining everything. Holstering the hammer, she reverted to beast mode. "Long story, I'll tell you en route."

"Yeah, well you still owe me a nap!" Trailbreaker retorted, following suit back into vehicle and flanking her heels.

"Gah!" Whirl tossed his head back but fell in rank. "And here I thought Needles and the runt were bad."

_Needles....Chromedome._

 

_"I appreciate the offer...but...I don't want to forget the best thing that ever happen to me."_

 

The sensation of pitching forward overcame her equilibrium, and she fell, consciousness shattering into fragments, bombarded by memories that weren't — were — hers.

And though a pair of hands caught her, calling her name, coaxing her to the present, she could not decipher who — _lover | brother | friend_ — had steadied her, righted her, gathered her up.

 

_Depth Charge, carrying her through the Ark to the CR chamber, after the siege of the Vok's island to rescue the other Transmetal II Maximals under the influence of the driver..._

_Skyfire, bringing her to Delphi on Mezzatine after rescuing her from Thunderwing's Warworld..._

_Magnus, catching her when she fell from the communications tower at Autobot City..._

 

Some old friends, some chance meetings; some she recalled with clarity, others were foggy, emulsion worn off an antique holotape.

 

_Hoist, huddling with her as they knelt before a box..._

_Sunstreaker, throwing her a shotgun amid a battle..._

_Mirage, taking her hand over a table at a bar..._

_Springer, offering a chance for her to find herself..._

 

And then:

 

_Trailbreaker, pleading for her not to engage..._

 

_"Art, I can't let you face them! They'll cut you down just like they did — "_

 

_Trailcutter, pinning her against the ground, hands atop his head in surrender..._

 

_"You are not a cog, you are not disposable, you are not replaceable."_

 

_Why is this happening?_

 

_"What I don't get is that this is not just old tech. It's experimental old tech. The engines are based off concepts I studied while I was in the Academy — "_

_" — that's where we met, by the by — "_

_" — Political science, if I remember correctly?"_

_"Concentration on Ethics, yep."_

_"Anyway, back on topic, we're talking a little over four million stels ago. And that's all they were: concepts, purely academic. I mean, I've heard of the lost tech of Unitrex, but who hadn't? So looking over the available engine schematics, I'm noticing similarities between those and the conceptual models..."_

_Listen. Focus. Grab that memory._

_There's something important in there._

 

 **NEXT:** Epilogue: The Fall and Decline of the Universe  


End file.
